


It's Going to Burn

by Traxits



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cooking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Turk Reeve has ever cooked for or with hovers in the kitchen.  Vincent Valentine is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Going to Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilRobotCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilRobotCat/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://traxits.tumblr.com/post/146561217042/vincentreeve-cooking) on my Tumblr.

Reeve supposed it had to do with the kind of people who became Turks, but every Turk he’d ever known hovered when Reeve cooked. Reno had always sat on the counter, and while he’d do any prep work Reeve handed him, he was always far more interested in actually watching the food cook. Elena had always lingered near the doorway, clearly trying to stay out of the way but unwilling to leave. Rude liked to help cook, and while he wasn’t poor help, Reeve always had the feeling that Rude helped more an excuse to stay in the kitchen than anything else. And Tseng… Well, Tseng always stood in the middle of the kitchen, watching. Commenting. Supervising.

Reeve had never suspected that Vincent shared that trait.

“It’s going to burn,” Vincent murmured.

Reeve glanced up from his tablet, and he smiled as he leaned over to look at the pot Vincent was watching. The stew still needed to simmer, still needed to let the flavors marry, and it was fine. Normally, Reeve wouldn’t even be in the kitchen when it was at this point. Normally, he’d have curled up on the couch or in the bed with his tablet and gotten a little more work done.

He’d learned better than that after the last time Vincent had supervised something cooking. Every time Reeve thought that surely his kitchen had recovered, he found something else to remind him that it really hadn’t.

“It’s not going to burn,” he replied, and he looked back at the reports he’d been reviewing.

Vincent looked at him, eyes narrowed, and Reeve glanced up. He raised an eyebrow.

“Which one of us actually cooks, Vincent?”

Vincent’s lips pressed together, and he looked back at the pot. Reeve smiled, and he set the tablet to the side, deciding that the work could wait for a few minutes at least. He reached for Vincent’s arm, and Vincent let him pull after a minute of tugging. It took longer than just a minute to get Vincent’s eyes off of the pot and on Reeve again, but when he did, Reeve’s smile widened.

“It’s fine,” he promised. “You have to let it do its thing.”

“It’ll stick–”

“It won’t stick. You stirred it just a minute ago.” Reeve leaned forward until his forehead touched Vincent’s, and he closed his eyes. “You need something else to focus on.”

That got him Vincent’s attention. Reeve knew without looking because Vincent’s hand came up to brush against the side of Reeve’s face. Reeve leaned into it.

“Now it’s definitely going to burn,” Vincent murmured, but he kissed Reeve anyway.

Reeve hated to tell him, but the stew could burn all it wanted so long as Vincent didn’t stop.


End file.
